You Belong With Me
by Dixiegirl256
Summary: Post "6B" - Two people, still obviously very fragile, helping to heal each other, first with the physical act of love, then with a sharing of thoughts and souls.
1. Chapter 1

Fringe has captured my attention and imagination like no other tv drama. It's been many years since I've written anything but technical documentation and training guides... but this story has been banging around in my head for weeks, demanding to come out.

JJ Abrams, Jeff Pinkner, Joel Wyman, et al own Fringe. They created a rich and compelling story; I'm just playing in between the spaces.

Many thanks to AriaAdagio for teaching me how to use quotation marks again, giving great advice, and providing many hours of enjoyment and inspiration from her incredible work in the GA fandom.

Thanks also to Elialys, my personal favorite in the Fringedom, for taking time for me, and for her kind words and encouragement.

I want to give a shout-out to Redshipper, whose wonderful fic, "The Perfect Present", gave me one of my favorite lines in Chapter 3.

My greatest thanks and appreciation go to O'ConnellAboo, my beta reader. She read and re-read with great patience, created the summary, and has been incredibly generous with her support, encouragement, advice, and friendship - and I am grateful for it all!

Aria and O'ConnellAboo did a great job as editors - any errors are totally my own. I had fun writing this - I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did.

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><p>You Belong With Me<p>

Chapter 1

Her confidence faltered when she reached the top of the stairs. All the times she'd been to the Bishops', and she'd never been upstairs. Peter realized her hesitation and slipped by her. He gave her hand a gentle tug as if to say "Follow me."

He pushed open a door at the end of the hallway and revealed a small room, illuminated in a soft glow by a lamp on the bedside table. Olivia took a step inside and gazed around the room. A twin bed was on her left, neatly made up with a brown blanket. Tables sat on either side, covered with books. There was a bookshelf on the other side of the room, also overflowing with books – everything from quantum mechanics to philosophy to the latest Stephen King.

Peter knew she was mentally cataloging every item in his room. Between her FBI training, her eye for detail, and her eidetic memory, nothing would escape her gaze. He stepped around her casually and crossed to the other side of the bed. When she turned her attention to the drafting table he used as a desk, he kicked yesterday's boxers and socks under the bed, then continued to watch Olivia take in her surroundings.

She moved to his dresser. It had the usual detritus of an adult male: wallet, keys, loose change. His FBI consultant's badge. An old-fashioned alarm clock, with two bells on top. An iPod, with the ear buds neatly wrapped around it.

She picked up the iPod and laughed. "I haven't seen mine since I came back. Do they even **have** iPods Over There?"

He grimaced. "I think Apple works for the Department of Defense. The technology went in a different direction."

She replaced the iPod and picked up a picture frame – it was a young boy, posed in a team uniform, with a soccer ball tucked under his arm.

"This is you?" she asked, and turned to face Peter.

"Yeah," he said with a small smile. "Walter found it when he was unpacking and brought it up here. Said it made the place more homey."

She replaced the frame on the dresser. "I like it."

He picked up another frame from the bedside table and held it out to her, although not far enough that she could reach it from where she stood. "I like this one better," he said, as she joined him on the far side of the bed. He handed it to her.

"When was this taken?" Her voice sounded harsh, even to her.

A pained look flitted across Peter's face; he took a deep breath as if to shake it off. "Astrid always dates her photos. I think this was taken about a year ago, after we came back from Jacksonville." He turned the frame over in her hands and pointed to a small inscription on the backing. When Olivia saw the date, the tension left her face.

"Astrid?"

"When Walter doesn't need her, she practices her surveillance skills by wandering around the lab and taking photographs." He took a step closer to Olivia and turned the frame in her hands so they could both see it. It had been taken in the lab, at a table where Olivia worked frequently when she wasn't in her office. She was seated, papers and folders spread before her. Peter was leaning over her shoulder, one hand on the back of her chair and one hand braced against the table. It was plain to see they were oblivious to their surroundings at that particular moment; they were smiling at each other with a look of deep affection and want in their eyes, their faces only inches apart.

"A year ago," she mused. "So everyone knew how we felt but us."

He took the photo from her and set it back on the nightstand, angling it as if he knew the optimum head-pillow-picture alignment. He turned to face her and tilted her face up to his. "Sweetheart," he drawled, "I've known for a long, long time." He bent to kiss her gently, and his arms circled her and drew her to him. She deepened the kiss and tangled her fingers in his hair.

For a long minute, there was no sound but the creaking and settling of an old house at night.

When they broke the kiss, they both gasped a little at the sudden surge of desire. Olivia fumbled with the buttons on her coat. Peter brushed her hands away, and unfastened them quickly, although with shaky fingers. He slid the coat and her scarf off, and then stepped around her to drape them over the chair at his drafting table.

When he turned back to her, she was unbuttoning her blouse. "My turn," he said, and nudged her to sit on the bed. He knelt at her feet and slid off her boots and socks. He massaged each foot in turn, eliciting a moan of satisfaction from her. When he straightened, still on his knees between her legs, they were about the same height. He pulled her closer, and kissed her neck, all the while continuing to unbutton her blouse. As he trailed kisses down the newly exposed skin, Olivia sighed and laced her fingers in his hair. He unbuttoned her slacks and slid the zipper down, continuing to drop kisses across her chest as he slid the pants over her legs and folded them neatly at the end of the bed.

Although she'd been just as unclothed many times in the lab, Olivia felt suddenly shy at the exposure of so much skin. If Peter had looked at her then the way he was looking at her now, she'd been unaware of it. The hunger in his gaze made her tingle pleasantly with anticipation.

He slid the blouse off her shoulders and laid it on top of her slacks. When he released the clasp on her bra, it was his turn to sigh. "Olivia," he whispered as he cupped her breasts, "You're beautiful." She closed her eyes, and he lost himself in her breasts, nibbling, sucking, gently nuzzling her with the scruff on his cheeks until her nipples were as hard as his cock and her breath was ragged.

As he raised his head to look at her, Olivia opened her eyes and smiled. "My turn," she murmured, imitating his earlier comment. She tugged at his sweater. Peter pulled the sweater, and the black t-shirt underneath, over his head in one motion, then dropped it on the floor. Olivia was already unbuckling his belt. Looking up at him, she palmed his erection through the denim. "Liv," he said in a low voice, popping the button and pulling the zipper down. She pushed the jeans off his hips.

As he stood to shake off his jeans, Olivia slid back on the bed and pulled the band out of her hair. She dropped it on the bedside table and shook out her hair so that it floated over her naked shoulders. Freeing her hair seemed to release her pent-up tension. She smiled serenely at Peter, as he stretched out beside her, propping his head up on his hand and toying with a strand of her hair, running it through his fingers. She snuggled closer to him, feeling him warm and solid down the length of her body.

He wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on the pillow and kissing the top of her head. Although his cock was straining the seams of his boxers, he was content to let her lead. He knew they were slowly rebuilding the trust between them, and that her presence here tonight was a significant step. For tonight, at least, they had all the time in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who's still with me! I had to take a cold shower after writing this chapter - hope you enjoy it!

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

As she settled in his arms, relaxing for the first time since she'd returned home from Over There, images flashed through her mind. How had they come to this place? She saw him in Bagdad, walking through the hotel lobby, sunglasses in hand, giving her that con man smile. In the lab at Harvard, holding her dripping body until she stopped shaking, after her freakish experience in the deprivation tank, trying to save John. In Manhattan, with a compassionate smile on his face as she confessed her fear. In the bars of Boston, matching her shot for shot, until the monsters of the latest case retreated enough to allow her a few hours sleep before starting to fight them again the next day. At the hospital, at her bedside, seeing the relief in his eyes as she opened hers. She saw him Over There, in the apartment overlooking the Empire State Building with the zeppelins tethered to the observation deck, his eyes shining darkly as she begged him to come back. She remembered how Peter pulled her close after she confessed her feelings and kissed him for the first time, her impassioned words, " You belong with me," echoing in her ears.

All the terror of her time Over There, and the despair she felt when she returned, came flooding back. She saw the two of them sitting in Barrett's overgrown garden, agony in her voice and on his face. She'd finally come to the realization that it wasn't just **her** pain, **her** betrayal. She remembered how she'd felt when she thought about Charlie, and the shape-shifter that had masqueraded as Charlie for weeks. She was the trained observer, yet she'd been fooled into believing the man-machine hybrid was someone she'd known for years, known better than anyone else, even John. She'd finally understood how people see what they **want** to see. She'd finally understood that it was really **her** that he wanted, that the life he wanted, the life he'd seen, was the one with **her** in it, not her red-headed doppelganger.

They'd barely had time to catch their breath in the last twenty-four hours, yet the question he'd posed to her earlier had bounced around in her head all day. "Who's the one stopping us now?"

Both of them had spent a lifetime running, avoiding, denying the unpleasant events of their life. Conning themselves, as well as everyone around them, that everything was normal, ordinary, **fine**. Peter had stopped running – unwillingly at first, but he'd stayed. He'd come back after Walter's betrayal; he'd come back from another universe, for God's sake, because she asked him to. Little by little, he'd wormed his way into her life, becoming an ally, a confidante, the catalyst for those rare smiles that breached her usual reserve. He'd never pushed her, but he'd always let her know he was there in subtle ways… until she'd made the first move. And when she'd come back, and he'd confessed to her, he'd given her space – until the morning when his frustration had bubbled over, had met hers in the entryway of the Bishop house and he'd thrown out the challenge. "Who's the one stopping us now?"

Olivia Dunham had never backed down – not from an abusive stepfather, not from all the men who wanted her out of **their** platoon, **their** courtroom, **their** class at Quantico. She hadn't let Phillip Broyles scare her with his derisive tone, or Nina Sharp with her intimidating manner, or even Walter with his lunatic ravings. But she'd been afraid to let Peter Bishop see past her carefully constructed walls. She'd let him in, and he'd broken down her defenses, made her vulnerable again to the pain of being abandoned, the pain of being deceived. The vulnerability she'd hidden away after John's death and the revelation of his betrayal.

When she'd returned home that night, after leaving Mrs. Merchant's apartment, she kept hearing Peter's voice – "When you have something so real, you'll do anything to keep from losing it." He'd been honest with her, confessing the time he'd spent with the Other One, and he'd let her push him away. He'd let her punish him even when he'd been hurting. And even after she'd rejected him one more time, and he'd confronted her, he'd still been by her side, telling her ridiculous stories about Walter in an attempt to lighten the tension; by her side, in a building about to be ambered, talking about a life spent with the person you love. He was still there, still trying, and she was the one who was afraid. The realization hit her with enough force to make her groan. She grabbed her coat, her keys, a bottle of 18 year old scotch, and headed out the door.

And here she was, naked in Peter's bed, his arms wrapped around her, his fingers gently stroking her bare back. She was tired of pushing him away, tired of carrying the angry burden that was their betrayal. She lifted her head and gazed into his face. He smiled gently at her and nuzzled his nose against hers.

"Hey, you… " he whispered.

She tugged his shoulders until he was on top of her, supporting his weight on his forearms, his body nestled between her legs. The brief moments they'd spent holding each other hadn't lessened his desire for her, and his cock nudged insistently against her. She stroked the side of his face, enjoying the soft stubble against her fingertips. She could feel her own arousal growing, and the slow burn made her bold again, like the feeling she'd had earlier in the kitchen when she'd taken Peter's hand and led him upstairs.

"Peter….I want what you want," she whispered again, and pulled his head down for a kiss. She ran her tongue along his bottom lip, and felt his smile against her lips as he kissed her more passionately. She pushed his boxers as far as she could, and he rolled from her momentarily to tug them off. She immediately missed the weight and warmth of his body.

As he turned back to her, he hooked a finger under the side of her black bikini underwear and looked up at her, a questioning expression on his face. She answered by lifting her hips and allowing him to slide it down her legs and drop to the floor to join his.

He laid his head on her stomach, just above the soft blond curls, and stroked her gently. She moaned, and shifted slightly, opening herself to him. He stroked her again, deeper this time, and she was slick and hot and soft. He wanted to bury his face in her warmth, to make her moan his name as she'd done a thousand times in his fantasies.

The Other Olivia had pulled away from him the first time he tried this. She wanted sex fast and hard, and Peter had been so enthralled with being with the woman he'd crossed universes for, he'd gone along with her aggressive style. It hadn't been what he expected, but he'd shrugged it off as part of learning a new lover.

Now that he was here, with **his** Olivia, he wanted their lovemaking to last forever. He wanted to touch every inch of her, to memorize each freckle, to learn where to stroke, where to pinch, where to suck, to make her gasp and call his name. He leaned closer, and spent an eternity tracing her folds with his tongue, closing his lips around her clit, feeling her tremble as he touched her.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, and she urged him up the bed. He was pushing her too close, too fast. She wanted to feel his body against hers again, to wrap her arms around him and know that he was solid, that he was real.

"You don't like that?" he murmured, knowing that she did by the taste of her on his lips.

"Later," she breathed in his ear. "I want you, I want to feel you now".

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," he said as he moved over her. He felt her smile against his shoulder. He pulled away enough to see her face, to see her glorious hair fanned out around her head, a beautiful blonde halo shining in the soft light of the bedside lamp. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his upper arms, and felt his muscles tensed to support his weight. He moved slightly and the tip of his cock brushed her opening. She whined with need, and he pushed into her slowly, enjoying the feel of her tightening around him, and her sharp gasp as he sank into her completely.

They had none of the awkwardness of a couple making love for the first time. They moved together slowly at first, then Olivia urged him on with her hands on his ass, pulling him to her and wrapping her legs around his hips.

Her world narrowed to the sensation of Peter surrounding her, his face buried in her hair and his lips soft on her neck. Nothing else existed for her at that moment but the connection she felt with him; not just the intense physical sensations, but the sense of knowing that she could be vulnerable, that she could let him in. She wasn't scared any more.

Peter wrapped an arm around Olivia's waist and plunged into her, until they were both panting, then flipped them over, nearly falling off the narrow bed. He looked up at her; the broad smile on her face made him love her even more.

"Bigger bed," she said between giggles, trying to catch her breath. They laughed together, and she teased him, tickling him with her hair, until he pulled her down and captured her nipple, teasing it with his tongue and turning her giggles into a low moan.

He rubbed her clit with his thumb until he felt her clench around his cock and knew she was as close as he was. She covered his torso with her own, and they turned again, his face buried in her shoulder and his lips on that soft spot on her neck that made her shiver when he kissed her there. He rocked into her, calling her name like a mantra. She moaned his name, and he pulled back, wanting to watch her face as he pushed into her again, the same angle, the same force. She gasped, and he knew this was the moment they would fall over the edge together. He plunged into her again, and her green eyes met his gaze. He lost himself, falling into those green pools that meant he was where he belonged.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

She woke slowly, identifying each sensation before she opened her eyes. The birds chirping – she never heard birds in her apartment, but apparently, the Bishops' tree-lined yard was home to a thousand birds and they were all outside Peter's window. The sun on her face – Walter's insistence on an eastern exposure. The steady rise and fall of Peter's chest against her back and his arm wrapped securely around her, holding her close. The tingle between her legs and the delicious ache of muscles she hadn't stretched in that same way since John.

She opened her eyes and smiled at the sight of her clothes, neatly folded but kicked off the bed at some point in the night, and his clothes, piled where they fell in his haste to remove them. They'd made love again last night, even more slowly, savoring each touch as their tension built, until they couldn't stand it anymore. Their bodies had met with such force that the old iron bed frame had groaned along with them. She could still hear Peter calling her name as he came, reverent as any prayer, before they'd sunk into the heavy sleep of sated lovers.

She slid out from Peter's arms without waking him. He mumbled something sleepily, then rolled over, taking the covers with him. She spied the black button-down shirt he'd worn earlier yesterday and slipped it on, hoping that Walter wasn't home yet. She padded to the bathroom, laughing silently at the toothbrushes labeled "Walter" and "Not Walter." She showered quickly and slid Peter's shirt on again, rolling the sleeves up to her wrists. She relished his scent clinging to the cotton, and drank it in.

When she returned to Peter's room, he was still asleep. She took the opportunity to study his room more closely, looking for clues to this side of Peter Bishop, the private side that she hadn't seen before, touching each object as if it would impart some secret knowledge of the man who lived here. There were old 40's style postcards tacked to the wall beside the door – Vancouver, Mt. Hood, a beach in Maine. She touched his wallet, his keys… flipped his badge over to see the unsmiling face of a coerced and put-upon Peter Bishop three years ago, still tan from the Iraqi sun. She turned to face his drafting table. The schematics of the Doomsday machine covered the wall behind the table, dominating the area and reminding her of the world outside this bedroom.

Before she turned away, a photograph taped to the upper corner of the table caught her eye. It was another photo taken at the lab, a photo of her looking straight at the camera. Making a mental note to commend Astrid for her surveillance skills, she studied the picture more closely. In the photo, Olivia's hair was loose, framing her face and cascading over her shoulders. The white collar of her shirt was a sharp contrast against her black jacket. She was smiling, a smile that reached her eyes and softened her usually intense visage.

"That's another one of my favorites," Peter said in a gravelly morning voice. Olivia jumped, startled at the sound. She felt a blush creep up her cheeks, embarrassed at being caught prowling in his room, but Peter didn't seem to mind. He smiled, openly admiring Olivia's slim body clad only in his shirt.

He sat up, leaning against the headboard and tossing the covers back to welcome her back to bed. As she slid in next to him, he pulled her close and nuzzled her cheek. "Morning, sweetheart," he mumbled into her tousled hair. She snuggled into his embrace, the warmth of his body drawing her in.

As if he could read her mind, he said "Astrid gave me an album of photos when… " he paused, searching for the right words. Olivia turned in his arms, stroked his cheek to encourage him. "After I came back from Over There. Those two were my favorites."

She felt that gaping hole in her chest again, the one that started with "I thought she was you," and throbbed painfully with every "I'm sorry." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She felt Peter's arms around her. She heard his heartbeat as she laid her head against his chest and breathed him in. She heard him ask again "Who's stopping us now?" and reminded herself that she was through pushing him away. "So," she said, raising her head to look him in the eyes, "Let's see it."

Peter thanked all the deities he could remember that he and Astrid had double-checked every picture, and he had burned the ones with Fauxlivia. He leaned over Olivia, taking the opportunity to nuzzle her as he reached for the drawer on the bedside table. He hugged her, kissed her cheek, and dropped the album in her lap. "I'll be right back," and left the bed, ignoring his clothes on the floor. Olivia's gaze followed him out the bedroom door, and then dropped to the album in her hands.

She heard the water rattling the old pipes of the Bishop house. Peter was giving her a minute to compose herself, to preview the album without him and reassure herself. She knew now that it wasn't only his guilt, but his pain at being deceived, and seeing her pain that he could do so little to ease, that made him avoid a head on confrontation. She mentally steeled herself and opened the album.

She laughed out loud at the first photo. Walter and Peter were facing off, gesticulating wildly, having an adamant discussion about God knows what. She was sitting between them, an amused smile playing across her lips, belying the intensity on the two men's faces. They could've been dissecting the latest horror facing them in a new case, or debating the relative merits of strawberry vs. chocolate syrup on a banana split.

She continued to flip the pages, so engrossed that she didn't notice Peter for a moment. He leaned against the doorframe, his hair damp and towel-ruffled. Drops of water clung to his body, sparkling in the early morning sunlight streaming into the room. He scanned her face for any sign of unease, and relaxed as she turned a page and smiled at the image before her.

When she looked up, her eyes widened and her breath hitched as she saw him. The few men she'd dated were generally considered handsome by most standards, but Peter took her breath away. He was fit, of course, and muscular, but not burly. He had a runner or a biker's body, lean and tensile. He seemed taller without clothes, without the interruption of shirt or pants to break the line from his broad shoulders to the curve of his ass to the legs he crossed casually as he shifted in the doorway.

"Come tell me about these," she said as she scooted to the left side of the bed. She'd noticed that his cell phone was charging on the right side table. Next to the phone, there was a well-handled silver coin, the engraving almost worn smooth. The lamp on the right side table had been on last night, and there were more open books piled on this table. The left side table held a small digital alarm clock and a stack of books as well, but these were closed with scraps of paper or folded corners for bookmarks. So… the right side was **his** side of the bed.

He pulled a pair of navy boxers out of his dresser and slid them on, then stretched out on top of the covers and pulled her close. They spent an hour perusing the album, trying to remember the circumstances for each photo. They laughed at Walter's tin foil hat, at Peter's exasperated expressions, at Olivia struggling to keep a straight face while Peter rolled his eyes at Walter's exposition. Their laughter stilled at a photo of Walter, tears glazing his eyes, as he looked lovingly at Peter, who was working at another table and oblivious to his father's gaze.

"He really does love you, you know," she said as she laid her head against his shoulder.

"I know," he said ruefully. "It was hard at first… to accept what he did." He sighed. "After being Over There, meeting my biological father… " His face hardened at the memory. "I decided that Walter did what he did out of love."

He turned his gaze back to the album. "We talked about it, you know. When you… when you were gone." He tightened his arm around her shoulders. "He wasn't going to keep me. He was going to cure me and take me back, but when Mom," he said, his voice cracking a bit, "When Mom saw me, he couldn't bring himself to do it."

Olivia felt the pain in his voice without having to see it on his face. She put her hand on his chest and snuggled closer to him. "Nothing about us is ever simple, is it?"

His only answer was to turn to the next photo. The next dozen or so were all of Olivia. In her office, chewing on a pen, a pensive look on her face. Standing in front of a white board with a wrinkled forehead, struggling to understand Walter's crazed scribbling. In front of her desk, her arms above her head in a yoga stretch that revealed a smooth midsection. A close up, just her face – her hair was pulled up in a messy bun held in place by a pencil, and she was wearing her reading glasses.

He chuckled, and tapped the photo with a finger. "This one," he said in a low voice, "this one figures prominently in a **lot** of fantasies."

The growl in his voice made her tingle again. She knew he was trying to lighten the tone, and she tried to sound teasingly indignant. "Peter Bishop! Have you been fantasizing about me? Just how long has this been going on?" She turned to look at him directly, a smile playing across her face.

She was surprised to see a faint blush tinge his cheeks.

"Honestly?" He paused, and she nodded in encouragement. "Since the plane ride back from Iraq."

He noticed the confusion on her face.

"The **first** plane ride," he added in clarification.

"Oh, Peter, really?" she said, with more than a little disbelief in her voice. "You didn't even know me then."

"Well… I will admit that those early ones were more 'the beautiful blonde that shanghaied me' and less 'Olivia, the woman I want to make love to'." He gave her that smartass smirk that had irritated her so much initially. "What did you think I was doing, all those nights in the apartment while Walter recited the axioms of Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem in his sleep?"

He started unbuttoning her shirt, sliding down in the bed a little to nuzzle Olivia's neck where it joined her shoulder – a spot that was rapidly becoming one of his favorites. He slid his hand under the open shirt, caressing her breast and feeling her respond to his touch.

"Well?" she asked, leaning into his hand.

"Well, what?" he replied, distracted by his efforts to slide the shirt off her shoulders.

"How did reality compare to your fantasies?" It was a logical question, and she spoke it in the same teasing tone, but the underlying question was the one she really wanted him to answer.

She knew this was a little like poking a wound that was finally starting to heal, but she wanted to put everything about the Other One behind her. She didn't want those questions dancing in the back of her mind as they made love, taunting her like the words on Simon's note…"He still has feelings for her".

His voice took on a serious tone, and she knew he was going to face her unspoken question. "Olivia." He straightened so he could look at her directly.

"Once I knew I cared about you… " He swallowed and continued. "Once I knew I loved you, the fantasies became less about sex and more… more about being **with** you, pleasing you." His cheeks got a little pinker, but his gaze never wavered. "More about hearing you say my name like you did last night." He cupped her face in his hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"When you kissed me, Over There, and told me - "

"You belong with me," she whispered, remembering the passion and the fear from that moment, but also the sense of liberation, at last telling Peter what she'd felt for months.

"It was the answer to every fantasy. I knew you felt the same way that I did. That the potential to fulfill those fantasies was real."

He smirked again, brushing her lips with his. "Well, maybe not the Princess Leia one… " and smiled as she swatted him, her lips turning up in a small grin. His face grew serious again, knowing that the only way through this, was, well, through it. He hoped they'd regained enough trust in each other to get through the conversation without destroying the fragile connection they were building.

"When I came back, and started seeing her," he paused, feeling her body tense in his arms. She turned her face slightly, enough to kiss his palm that still rested against her face.

"It was different than I imagined." He paused again, choosing his words carefully, but it was obvious that he'd covered this ground in his mind many times. "It was very physical. She was very aggressive, as if she wanted to have sex, but didn't want to get close to me, to be intimate."

"I told myself that it was just two people getting used to a new relationship." He took a deep breath. "That the emotional relationship I thought we already had would be there again, once the newness of the sex wore off."

He looked her straight in the eye again, and she nodded slightly, giving him permission to continue.

"Even though she seemed… aloof at first, outside the bedroom, I wrote it off as not wanting to mix a personal and professional relationship. I kept on doing the things… " he stopped again, still needing reassurance that she wanted to hear this. It was the most they'd talked about what happened since that day in the hospital coffee shop. She met his gaze, that famous Dunham impassiveness on her face.

"I kept on doing the things I wanted to do for **you**. I felt like you'd never had anyone to take care of you, and I wanted to be that person."

She could feel tears welling in her eyes, and ducked her head, trying to camouflage it as a nod for him to keep going.

His thumb wiped away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. "She finally seemed to relax a little, to let me get closer. I thought it was me, I thought I was making her… you happy".

"We've both read her file, Peter. It may have started as part of the mission, but she was falling for you."

"Maybe. Maybe a little. But I think she was getting complacent. She realized she had me fooled. She could lead me around by my cock, and I'd overlook all the things that didn't add up." He laughed bitterly. "She fucked me, in more ways than one."

Peter tilted her face up to his. She saw her pain reflected in his eyes. "I saw what I wanted to see, Olivia. I convinced myself that the things I'd dreamed of before, that I thought I wanted, weren't important as long as I was making you happy."

An image of Charlie's body, mercury oozing from the bullet hole in his forehead, flashed in front of her. "People see what they want to see," echoed in her mind. She stalled for time, flipping through the album that lay abandoned in her lap. It was transparent, she knew, but Peter gave her the moment.

As she flipped through the pages, the photos came to an end. It was obvious that the empty pages once held photos that had been removed. She tilted her head up at Peter, and cocked an eyebrow at him, holding the book up.

"Memories that weren't real, Olivia," the bitterness still in his voice. "Lies."

He took the album from her lap and laid it on the bedside table, then kissed the side of her head. "For a while, after the Barrett case, that day in the garden… I was afraid that those photos would be all I had, all I'd ever have of you."

He wrapped his arms around her again, and rested his head on hers, more for his comfort than for hers. He sighed wearily, as if the conversation had taken the last bit of energy he had.

"To answer your original question," he began, and she stilled in his arms, holding her breath. They needed to get past this, no matter how painful. They both needed to put this ghost to rest, but knowing that didn't make it any easier.

"Making love to you last night was better than any fantasy. It was how I thought it would be, Olivia, how I always imagined it." He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm. He released her hand, and she stroked his face. She felt the dampness on his cheeks, a reminder that she wasn't the only person struggling with all that had happened between the three of them. She turned his head gently to face her, and brushed her lips against his softly.

She felt the tension leaving them both and relaxed again in his arms, just as she had last night when she decided that letting Peter back in her life was worth the risk. That they did want the same things. She spoke quietly, but with the same confidence she'd felt then. "Peter, we're gonna be fine."

They lost themselves in a kiss full of promise, and Peter slipped his hand under her shirt again to caress her bare back and pull her closer. As they shifted in bed to deepen their kiss, they heard the front door clatter open and Walter's voice call out excitedly.

"Peter! Peter! Agent Dunham's car is here! Did you know that? Have you seen her?"

Peter pulled away with a rueful smile, then murmured, "Tonight, we're going to **your** place," and kissed the tip of Olivia's nose. Before she released him, Olivia gave him a smile that made her green eyes sparkle; he was sure his life was going to improve from that moment on.

He bent over to snag his jeans from the floor, and called out, "Yes, Walter, I've seen her," as he pulled them on and ambled toward the door. He turned back to Olivia, still sitting in his twin bed, her hair tousled and her lips rosy from their kisses. "Are you ready for this?" he asked as he smiled at her.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied as she scrambled out of bed and hurriedly dressed. He held out his hand to her and as she slipped her smaller hand into his, he gave it a comforting squeeze and smiled again. "This is where we belong," he said quietly, and they headed downstairs to greet Walter.


	4. Epilogue

Epilogue

Olivia found a small box on her desk at the lab. No card, of course, but she knew where it had come from. She opened it and found a top of the line iPod and a pair of Bose ear buds. The iPod had already been loaded with her music and podcasts, along with a generous selection of jazz – Coltrane, Miles, Monk, Parker, Brubeck, Jarrett – and a new playlist, simply titled "Olivia" and containing three songs – "Someone to Watch Over Me," "For Once in My Life," and "Pale Blue Eyes."

Her smile broadened as she looked up to see Peter in front of her, two cups of steaming coffee in his hands. He set a cup down in front of her - black, one sugar - and turned the iPod over in her hands before walking out of her office without saying a word.

The inscription read "You Belong with Me" and was dated two weeks ago – the day they'd healed the rift in the universe and the rift in her heart.

Peter stopped in her doorway and looked back at her. He hoped Astrid had her camera handy – but he knew he'd remember the smile on Olivia's face as long as he lived.


End file.
